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The smell of pine and snow fills the air as the sound of laughter spreads through the aide’s office. Outside, flakes of snow drift gently to the ground, adding more to the blankets of white that already decorate the terrain. Fires are made as large as possible, men huddling around them and hovering their hands atop the yellowed flames. Other men find more creative ways to warm themselves, prancing around the camp and singing merrily in an attempt to spread holiday cheer. It works somewhat, but drunk men do not sing particularly well.
Hamilton blinks rapidly, breaking himself out of his thoughts. He looks to the silverware in his hands and continues to place them next to the dishes, making sure to put them in the correct order. Normally the maids would do these menial chores, as they always did whenever dinner was prepared, but today they are severely understaffed. Most of the women are taking kitchen duty, attempting to cook an appropriate feast for tonight’s Christmas dinner; leaving the task of decorating and setting the table to the aides.
Laurens was put in charge of hanging new drapes, his height being the determining factor once roles were being assigned. Mchenry was placed in charge of keeping the fires lit-something he adamantly complained about because it meant he had to make trips in the freezing cold for firewood. Fitzgerald offered to accompany him, claiming he ‘enjoyed the cold’. Harrison was instructed to keep them in check, mostly in part because they - somehow - allowed Meade and Tilghman in charge of decorations.
They both begged for the role, pleading with a stubborn Harrison to allow them a chance. He had jokingly voted in their favor, reasoning nobody in their right mind would allow them both to reak havoc on the office. What he hadn’t taken into account was just how much the other aides wished to see the mess the two would make and they were promptly given the role, much to Harrison’s chagrin.
So far, the most they’ve done was attempt to hang mistletoe on every doorway, nearly catching Washington and Mchenry under it a few hours ago. (The both of them were severely punished. Hamilton swears he can still hear the pleads from Tilghman.)
“Having fun with the silverware, Hamilton?”
Hamilton turns around, catching sight of Laurens standing atop a chair, white linen drapes hanging off his forearm. He smiles, looking up to meet Laurens eyes, “About as much fun as you seem to be having, my dear.”
Laurens smiles, before looking to the drapes with a frown, “That must mean none then.”
“Oh please, can’t you handle a bit of cotton?” Alexander teases, setting down the final fork. John looks down at Hamilton exasperatedly, holding up the wooden pole.
“It’s infuriating. There are too many hoops I swear. It could hang perfectly fine with only three or four hoops but the designer thought it fit to put six! Six!,” John exclaims, he holds up the curtain, shaking it as if to prove his point, “And that is only for one drape! I have perhaps ten to d- Alexander do not laugh at me!”
Alexander shakes with laughter, holding a hand to his mouth to stifle the sounds, “John six hoops is the standard. Any less at the curtain would be unable to stay up.” his laughter dissipates and Alexander sniffs, taking a handful of drapes from John, “Though if you find the task so difficult I would be more than willing to assist you.”
“Are you sure you’d be able to reach Ham?” Meade interrupts, a sly grin on his face. He holds a bought of holly in his hands, no doubt for placing near windowsills. Hamilton narrows his eyes at him, pouting slightly.
“I think I would thank you, sir,” Alexander replies curtly, ignoring the chuckles emanating from Laurens. He hears several thumps emanating from behind him and turns to see Mchenry and Fitzgerald shaking the snow off their shoes as they enter the office.
“Blast this weather. I swear my bones be icicles with the way they shake.” Mchenry, grumbles, closing his cloak tightly around his form, “How this Yeti manages to find it enjoyable is beyond me.”
Fitzgerald taps on the bottom of his boots, shaking out the last remnants of snow, “Days at sea likely trained me for the cold. Tis not my fault you’d rather be huddled by a fire.”
“You speak as though that is an insult when it be a fact,” Mchenry says sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. Three consecutive ‘here, here’s sound from the aides.
“Boys, get back to work. These candles won’t light themselves.” Harrison commands, stepping down the stairs with a crate filled with varying sizes of candles. The aides groan in annoyance.
“Tis Christmas Eve, old secretary! Can you not muster up a bit of cheer in that cold heart of yours?” Meade whines, causing Harrison to roll his eyes.
“Unless you’d like to be eating in the dark then no I cannot.” he counters, setting the crate on the floor with a thump, “Where is Tilghman? Do not tell me he is slacking off.”
That’s a good question. Tilghman hasn’t been spotted in the last three hours, and Hamilton is sure that frightens Harrison greatly. Not for worry of him, but of what he may do.
Meade grins devilishly, “Oh, there’s no need to worry, Harrison. I can assure you he is doing God’s work at the moment.” The grin on his face seems to worry Harrison further, but he drops the subject reluctantly.
Laurens eagerly squats down to the candles, taking a few from the crate and setting them on the table, “We may as well get started, no use in leaving the place unfinished.”
Hamilton hums unconvincingly, noting the curtains left on the chairs, “I assume the drapes will be left unhung then?”
The blond man freezes and guiltily turns to face Hamilton.
“Blast.”
The sun has begun to set by the time preparations finished, and surprisingly, the results are quite nice.
Much of the office is decorated with a variety of greenery; boughs of holly and ivy lining the mantle above the fireplace. Candlelight brightens the room softly, just enough to where it does not irritate the eyes. One piece of mistletoe hangs just above the stairwell, something Harrison begrudgingly allowed after persistent pleading.
Currently, Alexander cleans the aide’s bedroom, because although no one of importance will enter, it’s best to keep appearances.
The aroma of plums and ginger tingle his senses, bringing Hamilton back to his years at King’s. He remembers Christmas being spent acting a drunken fool with his peers and only occasionally sobering to exchange gifts. These gifts almost always consisted of more alcohol, but it was a sweet tradition nonetheless. Hamilton wonders if Christmas will be spent in a similar way here, or if he will have to be tied to a desk for the day, slaving away at correspondence till his hands cramp.
At least he’ll be tied to a desk with John, which makes it a bit more bearable.
Arms sneak around his waist, folding themselves just over his stomach. Blond hair peaks from the corner of his eyes, exposing the visitor’s identity. Speak of the devil.
“Missed me already, John? I thought you’d have the patience to wait till nightfall.” Hamilton teases, chuckling at the exhausted groan he receives from Laurens in return.
“I hung all the curtains, Alex, every single one, and Harrison still had the gall to ask me if I could organize the office. He could have asked any other aide but he chose me,” John mumbles into his neck, annoyance seeping through his words. Alexander hums in amusement, reaching up to pet John’s head comfortingly. John croons happily, dropping a kiss on top of Alexander’s head. He basks in the affection, slumping back into John’s chest with a sigh.
“I’m surprised we haven’t been caught under the mistletoe yet,” Alexander murmurs, toying with the cuffs of John’s coat, “I wonder why Meade continues to hang more…”
“Perhaps he wants to catch one of us under it,” John replies in a low voice, watching Alexander’s fingers absentmindedly. Alexander hadn’t considered that before, but the more he thinks of it the more it makes sense. The only women nearby are the maids, and they are confined to the kitchen until the food must be sent out. This would mean any member of the opposite sex would likely not be present for dinner; making the only ones moving throughout the house men.
Alexander blinks, his eyebrows furrowing, “Why would he want such a thing?”
John shrugs, “Humor perhaps. You know how Kidder is.” Alexander considers this and nods, though not completely convinced. He turns to face John, his arms coming up to loop around his neck.
He admires his lover for a moment, taking in his beauty. His strong jaw, pretty eyes, and hair paint the picture of one of the most handsome men he’s ever seen. His good looks coupled with his equally amazing nature make Alexander wonder how he managed to catch him as a bachelor. Even with John’s inclination towards men, he almost has a hard time believing no woman has expressed interest. Still, he definitely isn’t complaining.
John’s hair is tied back with a black ribbon, though one strand pulls away from the rest. Alexander tucks it behind John’s ear, chuckling at the shy smile John gives in return.
“I cannot wait to give your gift tomorrow,” John whispers, pressing a kiss to Alexander’s freckled cheeks, “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
Alexander smiles bashfully, “If it’s from you, I’ll adore it.”
John grins teasingly, “Even if it was a pair of muddy stockings?”
Alexander laughs, breaking out of John’s grasp in his mirth. John laughs as well, attempting to quiet his chuckles into his hands. Alexander sniffs, his eyes bright, “Yes John, even if it was a pair of muddy stockings.”
John smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “Good because I plan on giving you something much greater.”
“I should hope so. Tis our first Christmas together after all,” Alexander says with a wink, reaching over to stroke John’s cheek. John beams, looking much like a puppy with the way he leans into his hand.
His eyes soften, admiring Alexander with what can only be described as pure adoration, “You’re right. The first I’ve had since I met you.” His eyes begin to water, but he quickly wipes away the tears in favor of kissing Alexander on the lips, “Thank you for staying with me.”
“J..” Alexander whispers, holding John’s neck, “John, I lo-”
“ Everyone, dinner is served! ”
A voice bellows from below, causing John and Alex to rip away from each other; much to the two’s frustration. Alexander attempts to clean himself up a tad, worrying someone may come in at any moment. John tip-toes over to the door, cracking it open to check if the coast is clear. He turns to Hamilton, motioning for him to follow with a frown. Alexander tries to quell the disappointment settling in his chest, reasoning he’ll tell John someday.
They both head down the stairs, hearing conversation becoming louder and louder. Hamilton turns into the dining area, feeling the change in mood wash over him.
The candles are alight, illuminating their faces and casting shadows all around the room. Alexander looks to John, and he smiles in encouragement. John returns the smile, touching his fingertips ever so slightly. Hamilton fights with himself not to grab his hand right then and there.
“Oi, Hamilton, Laurens! Don’t think we don’t see you hiding in the shadows, sirs!” Meade exclaims, causing a chuckle to run through them.
“We were only admiring yours and Tilghman’s excellent decorating skills, Kidder,” Laurens exclaims, prompting Hamilton to come sit at the table. They both seat next to each other, hands kept under the table.
“Quite a fine job we did ey, Laurens?” Meade boast pridefully, before turning to Tilghman, “Though I couldn’t have done it without Tilghman’s excellent negotiation skills.” Tilghman flushes, putting his face in his hands.
Hamilton furrows his eyebrows, “Negotiation skills?”
Kidder smiles coyly, “Aye sir, how do you think we managed to acquire all these materials? It was all because Tench managed to convince a florist by-”
“Shut it! There’s no need to tell them!” Tilghman sputters, his face alight with embarrassment. Hamilton wonders just to what lengths Tench went to in order to make the office fit for Christmas. From Tilghman’s reaction, it must have been unspeakably awful. Despite his curiosity, Hamilton debates whether he wants to know just what Tench did.
“Is that why you were gone for the day, sir? Just what did you do that required you to be away for so long?” Harrison inquires from across the table, further reddening the flush of Tilghman’s cheeks.
“May we please change the subject?” Tilghman begs, unable to look at the rest of them.
“Can it be changed to the food? We’ve been waiting all day.” Mchenry interjects, taking a sip of wine. A murmur of agreement passes through them, and they agree to let Tilghman be for the time being.
As if summoned, Fitzgerald walks in with a tray of bowls, setting it on the table with a grunt, “The maids said this would be for the time being, the main course is still being prepared,” He passes a bowl to each person, being careful not to spill anything, “For now enjoy the porridge.”
Hamilton’s eyebrows furrow and he looks into his bowl curiously. The smell reminds him of meat however the concoction in the bowl is anything but. He notes the cloves and pieces of apple, but what truly confuses him are the bits of what seems like venison.
He taps Laurens on the shoulder, whispering in his ear quietly, “What is this?”
Laurens furrows his eyebrows, leaning over and whispering, “Plum pottage. Have you never had it?” His words cause Hamilton more confusion.
“Why call it plum pottage if there are no plums?” Alexander questions, swirling the soup around. Are those bloody raisins-?
“Well, some add plums but perhaps the kitchen staff acquired a different recipe,” John replies, leaning towards Hamilton a bit more, “Just try it, I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Hamilton purses his lips but takes a spoonful once he sees Laurens smiling encouragingly. The flavors contrast with one another greatly. The citrus from the fruits pairing oddly with the meat. He smacks his lips, trying to decide whether he enjoyed it or not. His eventual conclusion is that he would have preferred regular porridge.
“It certainly isn’t bad, but I find it odd that they would put both fruits and meat together. One would have sufficed enough,” he says sternly, his face outstandingly serious despite the subject of conversation being porridge. Laurens chuckles at his lovers’ pickiness.
“Perhaps, you’ll enjoy the other dishes better,” he says with a smile, taking a spoonful of porridge for himself, “And if not I hear we’ll be having pie for dessert.”
Hamilton perks up at that, his mood calmed for the time being.
He looks to the others around him. Meade recounts the story of how he had nearly gotten stuck in the middle of a snowstorm, and the other aides listen contently. They appear distracted.
Laurens seems to think the same thing and he glances at Hamilton before sticking his hands under the table.
A hand creeps up his thigh slowly, careful to catch only Alexander’s attention and no one else’s. It’s tentative, careful, almost shy. It stops right before his fingers and asks, “ Can I? ”
He looks up, searching for John’s eyes. They stare blankly into his plate, though he catches them flicking towards him occasionally. The room around them fades for a moment, the voices of the aides becoming little more than a distant echo. It’s just them now.
Alexander takes John’s hand in his, basking in how they fit together like puzzle pieces.
The rest of the night goes as planned, dinner being thankfully better suited for Alexander’s tastes than the porridge. Wine was also generously distributed to the aides, perhaps the reason why Alexander’s head begins to spin just a bit. All in all, it’s as good a meal as one can get in the army.
“Now that we finished with the main course, I’m assuming you all would enjoy a slice of pie?” Fitzgerald asks, leaning back into his chair. They murmur in agreement, too tired from the day’s merriment to give a proper response.
Laurens takes a sip of wine, polishing off his glass. He sets down the glass and turns to Hamilton, a slight flush on his cheeks. His mouth opens, as if to say something, but he thinks better of it and turns to Fitzgerald, “What are we waiting for then?”
Tilghman grins at Laurens, and gives a quick glance at Meade who returns the glance with a similar grin, “I think it’s in the other room. Would you and Hamilton care to fetch it for us?”
Hamilton narrows his eyes suspiciously, but Laurens jumps up at the opportunity, “Of course, sirs. Come, Hamilton.”
Before Alexander can protest, John grabs his hand and leads him out of the room; gigglings from Meade dissipating as they leave.
“As much as I enjoy the company of our friends, I’d appreciate some private time with you,” he says, leading them towards the kitchen, “Especially on an occasion such as this.”
As they enter, Hamilton gives a quick glance around the room. The kitchen staff seems to have left for the day, meaning John and he have the room to themselves for a good five or so minutes. Alexander smiles, turning to John, “Now where were we…”
John is the first to advance, crashing their lips together as he boxes Alexander into a nearby counter. Alexander cards his hands into John’s hair, tugging on strands of hair. John groans into the kiss, gripping his thigh tightly. Their movements are too rushed to be fully enjoyable, but Alexander can’t focus on that thought when John is kissing and touching him like this; so wanton and sensual.
He pushes his hips up, making contact with John’s groin; both groaning simultaneously. A loud laugh sounds from down the hallway, and John slaps a hand over his mouth, looking to the door in fear. They wait quietly with bated breath, as they listen for any indication that they were heard. When they hear silence, they exhale in relief; pulling away from each other, the mood completely ruined.
“We can’t have a moment to ourselves can we?” Alexander says quietly, flattening out his tousled hair. He finds the pie, picking it up with a sad smile. His eyes meet John’s, and without a word being said, they nod in understanding.
John smiles apologetically, looking down at the floor, “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
“Aye.”
They quietly walk down the hallway, keeping a safe distance away from each other.
With a sigh and a deep-seated hatred for the world, they walk through the doorway, “Sorry for the delay, sirs. We-”
Alexander pauses, surveying what he sees. The aides all surround the door, all of them grinning widely; the only exceptions being Harrison who massages his temple in frustration, and Fitzgerald, who looks more confused than anything. Meade wears the biggest smile of them all, only rivaled by Tilghman, “I see you found the pie,”
Laurens looks around with wide eyes, clearly confused, “Aye….we did.”
They sit in silence for a moment before Hamilton breaks the silence reluctantly, “Why are you all standing around the door…?” Meade smiles even widen, mirth sparkling in his eyes.
“Look up.”
“What-”
“I said, look up.”
Alexander takes a glance at Laurens, meeting his eyes before they both, reluctantly, look up. Their eyes widen at what they see.
Mistletoe
Meade, Tilghman, and Mchenry break out into boisterous laughter. Harrison sighs, although a small smirk also sits on his face, shocking Hamilton even more. Did they hang this while they were gone?
They had to; Alexander didn’t see it earlier, meaning that in the four or so minutes he and John had left, the aides had hung mistletoe in order to catch them under it. John sends him a look that says, “What the fuck.” and Alexander almost laughs.
Through tears, Meade speaks while laughing, “You know what to do, sirs!”
Hamilton gasps and nearly drops the pie, “You don’t really expect us to kiss, do you? That is immoral and need I remind you, sirs, illegal.”
Meade crosses his arms, tilting his head teasingly, “So is murder, and yet here we are,” Alexander snaps his head in Meade’s direction, nearly ready to explode. He opens his mouth, but Meade raises his hands in surrender, “If you truly don’t want to, you do not have to kiss him on the lips. You may kiss him on the cheek if it truly bothers you both so much,”
That’s the issue , Hamilton thinks, it does not bother him . Should Hamilton kiss Laurens in front of the aides, would he be able to control himself? Would he be able to make it quick enough to not arouse suspicion, or would he give in to his desires and expose them both for what they are? Sodomites.
Alexander lets out a breath and nods, three of the aides cheering and patting him on the back encouragingly; furthering his embarrassment.
He turns towards John, his face bright red. John flushes, looking down at his feet anxiously. After a moment to calm themselves, John leans down, grabbing Alexander’s face. Quiet falls over the aides, all of them watching intently. As if observing wild animals.
Alexander feels soft puffs of air on his cheeks and he parts his mouth invitingly, waiting for John to make the first move. Finally, he feels the slightest peck on his lips, John pulling away so quickly Alexander was unsure of if he had been kissed at all.
The loud hoots and hollers tell him he had in fact been kissed, and that their performance satisfied the aides. Despite the jolly mood, Hamilton feels as though he has just been used. He feels as though he had just played jester, and kissing John had been the finishing act. Laurens sends him a look of despair, his face almost as downtrodden as Alexander feels.
Alexander touches his lips, wishing the kiss had lasted for more than a moment.
He wishes that for one day, their love would mean more than a sick joke.